


Our Darkest Moments

by ElywynHolm



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Multi, more character tags will be added when I remember who goes where
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24606187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElywynHolm/pseuds/ElywynHolm
Summary: The dead aren't supposed to wake, but wake they will. Sometimes, when the dead wake, they give back a hero of ages - destined to save the world. For some its a lifelong desire, to save the world and make their name but for Britta Dalorienne, mage to a petty lord in Daggerfall, it's more than just her death sentence. It's the people who find her along the way, all the love and the loss, and a world that needs saving.
Kudos: 6





	1. Stepping on Toes

"We meet the King tonight," Gloria smiled, painting her lips red once more. Britta glanced at her and shook her head.

"Paint your lips one more time and you'll be thought of as some common whore. Anyway, we may not meet the King." Gloria rolled her eyes and painted her lips again.

"You're only saying that because you don't like the King," Gloria shrugged, "it doesn't suit you, not liking people. You might meet the love fo your life at this dance if you even know how to do any."

"Gloria we all know that it doesn't matter," Britta grumbled, "we'll be employed by some lord or lady and we'll go off to wherever they go." That was the truth of it, tonight was a party, yes, but it was the mage's opportunity to find some employment - or for it to find them. Britta had little interest in doing such and if she hadn't needed the money, she would have quite happily gone to do something else. Anything else. She had no desire to end up like her mother.

"Are you too done bickering?" Asked a voice. Britta turned around and gave a smile to the owner,

"Why hello to you too Amelie, could you warn us next time, in case we're, I don't know getting dressed?"

"If you were still getting dressed then you'd have a problem," Amelie snapped back, "you need to leave and soon, the King is not one who is kind to those who are tardy." Gloria nodded and left without another word. Once she had gone, Amelie came to her sister and embraced her, tidying the collar of the blue dress she wore. 

"Mother's dress," she remarked, her voice quiet, "she would be so proud of you, Brittie." Amelie kissed her sister's forehead, holding her face, taking a good look at her, "she would."

"And I'll make her proud by saying no to any Rielle who comes near me," Britta smiled, touching the tip of her ears, "I should go speak to grandmother before she bores Gloria to death." Amelie nodded and let her sister go, watching her as she descended the stairs. The Rielle would never leave them in ruin again, Britta would make sure of that. Amelie would stay here, as she had always wanted, and her sister would go out into the world. Adventure would find her, eventually.

"Baenemathir," Britta sighed, "I'm ready." The old altmer sat in her chair as normal, an anxious-looking Gloria stood by the door, Amelie at the top of the stairs. Was this really where she was saying goodbye? Britta stopped and closed her eyes, she imagined that her mother was there too, smiling at her, telling her that everything would be alright. Father too, fishing net over his shoulder, a grin on his face looking at his daughter with pride.

"You must not dwell on them," her Grandmother sighed, she had gotten up and come to Britta while her eyes were closed, "they would not want you to do so." Britta nodded, she understood the words her Grandmother said but could not give her own words. Her tongue twisted in her mouth and would not come loose. Golden hands, dulled by age touched her face before taking one of her hands, placing a ring on her finger.

"This belonged to your Albaenamathir," Britta's Grandmother explained, "and her mother and her mother before. You come from a line of great mages, both of you," she looked up to Amelie, always anxious of her true abilities, "you will carry your name well, even if it is taken away from you." Britta smiled, her Grandmother had never liked that women gave over their surnames to the men they married, "now go, and make your own name." Britta went to the door, her fingers running over the ring on her other hand. She stopped at the door as her Grandmother added, "you too, Gloria." Gloria stuttered out a thank you to Britta's grandmother before the two departed.

The palace was by no means grand enough for a High King, the High King had commandeered the home of King Casimir for his party - celebrating the treaty between the Redguards, Orcs and Bretons that would pit them against the Mer and Eastern Tamriel dwellers. Provided there was no one on the throne of course, in name it was a trade treaty and it would stay that way until someone declared war. They dared not talk of it but in hushed whispers over tankards, everyone knew that war was coming. 

Britta and Gloria kept to the sides, mixing in with crowds as they watched people enter to grand announcements, all walking in as if they were the best thing that had happened to Mundus. Britta looked upon them all with a distaste until the King entered, afraid for her head should he see her. He was tailed by two generals, both dressed in Daggerfall guard's garb, and a third man followed - he seemed to prefer the comfort of familiar clothes that allowed him to move. Although he was not armed here, there were pockets on the front of his clothes that would hold knives, a slot for a bow to go over his torso. All he carried was a sword, as all the men and some women did, however, it was not at his side but strapped to his back.

"You're staring," Gloria whispered, "don't miss bowing to the King."

"I won't," Britta mumbled back, her eyes still on the third man. He had a box-like jaw and wide nose, short mousy hair went where it pleased and blue eyes shone like none she'd ever seen. Maybe Gloria had been right. She did not miss bowing for the King and when she lifted her head the man who trailed his King was looking directly at her and only her. She watched him, her head still slightly bowed, he returned the action, lowering his chin a little before lifting his head and turning back to follow his King.

"Look at you," Gloria remarked, they had been set free and allowed to mingle, "catching someone's eye, do you know who that is?" Britta shook her head, looking around the room, rescuing two glasses of wine from a server who happened to walk past. Gloria shook her head at her friend.

"That, dear friend, is Rohan Dalorien," Gloria smiled, "some say he's the King's personal assassin, the Dark Brotherhood have their own contract on him because he takes work from them - well, that's the rumours."

"I'd say they're rumours, assassins don't tend to parade around showing themselves to be almost completely unarmed," Britta remarked, sipping on her wine, "he'll be a Captain in the King's guard, they've been called assassins before." Britta sipped more from her wine. Her eyes danced about the room, looking for the man again. There must have been something about his eyes that was...she couldn't describe it. Perhaps he'd had some curse put on him, or if he was the King's assassin a payment for being able to hide.

"Why, if it isn't Brittanna Highmore," a voice called across the crowd, making their way towards her.

"Duke Rielle," Britta sighed, "you're here," Britta hated the man with a passion. Once, her mother had been in the service of the Rielle's as their mage but had struggled under them and been driven to something Britta preferred not to speak of. They often got her name wrong as well, it seemed that would be passed onto Britta. Gloria tried to leave but Britta grabbed her wrist, she wasn't leaving her alone to deal with this. 

"I did not think you'd attend, your mother-"

"Don't talk about my mother, your grace, you were a child," Britta interjected, "I'm sorry to hear of your father's passing, I'm sure you will make a great leader in his place."

"Every leader needs a mage," the Duke remarked but Britta was quick as she had been before.

"I won't be offering my services to the Rielle's I feel that should be plainly obvious to you Duke Rielle, though I thank you for the offer."

"And I'd advise you leave the Lady be," another voice came into the conversation, Britta let go of Gloria's hand and allowed her companion to slink away, turning to see the very man they had been speaking about not moments before. Rohan Dalorien. He did not look at her but Rielle, who quickly departed, going to find his wife no doubt, or some other girl. The Rielle's took whatever liberties they wished and had done since they had fought at Glenumbra - they thought they had a right to it, immortalised in song. 

Rielle gone, Rohan turned to Britta and took her hand, kissing it, introducing himself to her with a smile. Britta did the same, Rohan finding his own glass of wine, glancing around the hall before he turned his smile to Britta. She found his eyes again, wondering if they were something magical at all, perhaps he had just been looking. However, from his eyes, Britta found her own eyes wandering to his mouth before they quickly snapped up again.

"You don't ever feel like you belong here," Rohan sighed, "I can see it on your face, castles don't suit you."

"I prefer my little house in the Daggerfall streets, I doubt I'll do well under these lords," Britta smiled, she looked at his mouth again and could have sworn one side was scarred but nothing was there, aside from stubble.

"There's always Lord Sidrad, he's...he's not the most powerful of men, likes to entertain guests and more of a merchant than a lord but he can pay you and you'll stay in Daggerfall," Rohan suggested, he took another look at Britta, who shied away from his gaze, "you don't look the type to want power anyway, especially if castles seem to put you out of place." Britta smiled, looking the other way, seeing that Gloria had been cornered by two Ladies of Emeric's Kingdom, it would be a shame to see her friend go all the way to Wayrest without her. 

"I will endeavour to talk to this Lord Sidrad then," Britta nodded, "home is where I belong."

"I wish I could say the same, this is the first time I've returned in...years since I was seventeen," Rohan sighed, looking around the castle, "though I'm not sure the castle would be somewhere I call home. I belong to the fisher's district." Britta almost laughed, letting out something that sounded like joy.

"Myself as well, father was a fisherman, lived there all my life," Britta couldn't keep the smile off her face. She felt Rohan's eyes on her and turned her head to smile at him but he was looking at her with something of an interest. His eyes studied every part of her; her ears, amber eyes and thin mouth, the tint to her skin that wasn't quite Breton.

"You're a Highmore," Rohan smiled, pleased with his deduction, "what happens when an Altmer and a Breton come together, we get you. No wonder you're a mage."

"It doesn't benefit us all," Britta's voice became harder and she instead occupied her eyes with the room, she wasn't sure how she felt about his words, "my sister is...she could have fared better and although we are Highmores, we...we are diluted, my last Altmer relative is my Grandmother - don't believe what they wrote about mixing of races, or at least, don't take it at face value, my mother looked like a Breton." 

"I'm sorry if I've caused offence, it wasn't my intention," Rohan sighed, "but being who you are, I'd almost advise you to approach the King for position." 

"I do not have the untapped Magicka others have, my mother did, it appears to have skipped Amelie and I," Britta smiled, looking back at Rohan, "anyway, you're far too right about me not liking castles, I don't think I'd be suited to working for a King. If you'll excuse me, my friend seems to be in a spot of bother." Britta smiled and when to leave but he caught her arm and turned her back to him. For a moment he looked at her, his blue eyes wild as he looked at her.

"When the King calls for dances, come find me," he asked, "it'll keep you from Rielle." He let her go and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Britta to go and rescue Gloria from the Wayrest women. 

It turned out she wasn't saving her at all, Gloria seemed quite fond of them and pulled Britta into their conversation with ease. They asked about her a little but Britta gave them little to go off, feigning it as nervousness, should their attention turn from Gloria to herself, she'd never be able to forgive herself. They asked about who she intended to find work with, told them of Rohan's suggestion to which they shook their heads.

"He'll take some work," one sighed, "he's not stingy though, he'll pay you well." _He's no Rielle then_.

"I'm sure she can handle it," Gloria smiled, "she's good with peo- Britta?" 

"The king's about to call for dances," Britta mumbled, "find yourself someone to dance with, Gloria." She disappeared again, Gloria staring after her.

"I think your friend may have found someone, pity he can't employ her," one of the ladies smiled. 

The King called for dances but Britta had not found her companion and looked around for him, trying her best to avoid the eyes of the Rielle Duke. She felt a hand on her waist, guiding her into the fray of dancing. They spun her and revealed it to be Rohan. He had quick feet and Britta found herself fighting to keep up with him at points, glad he was slowed by group dances that people were not better at than she was. Where does a fisher's boy learn such skill at dancing? 

It seemed to last forever, the twisting and the turning, only taking a moment to kick off her shoes and toss them to a startled Gloria. She could have done it forever. She found herself laughing and smiling throughout, Rohan doing the same, eyes never off one another. Changing partners they would always find one another again and when it came to the final dance, exhausted, they clung to one another, content with slowly moving around. 

Then it ended, just like that, Rohan was called away.

"You really did everything but find a lord, didn't you," Gloria sighed, "you're a piece of work, Britta Highmore."

"I take it you'll go with the women you were speaking to?" Britta asked.

"Miss Highmore?" Interrupted a voice, that of a middle-aged man, whom Britta discovered was wider than he was tall when she turned around and losing more hair than he seemed willing to admit. She bowed her head to him and nodded, "I've heard about you, seen you as everyone else has, I believe you're looking for employment."

"I am, as every other mage here, to who do I owe this introduction?"

"I am Sidrad, you were suggested to me by the King's man, Dalorien," Lord Sidrad answered, "I require a mage, you need a lord to serve. I believe I am your answer."

"If you are offering than I accept," Britta tried to smile, trying not to be preoccupied with the room, "if that is what you are suggesting."

"It is indeed, come by the docks tomorrow, I shall see if my decision is wise," Lord Sidrad nodded, "enjoy the rest of your night, Miss Highmore." 

The castle began to clear the stroke of midnight and the two women walked home with one another, hand in hand, discussing the night. Gloria was to leave within the week, her ladies worked in the employ of the King, digging up the ground and Gloria would protect them. It suited her, she'd always excelled at healing magic. Britta was to remain here, she might even be allowed to live in her home, Sidrad didn't seem to fear for his life as other lords and ladies did. 

"Your home," Amelie smiled as Britta tiptoed into the house, "I've heard about you already, dancing with a King's man."

"He found me employment, I can't complain," Britta brushed it off, "he was very kind, from Daggerfall."

"You found yourself a native of this lovely city, our lovely city, who finds you employment," Amelie was almost laughing, "he sounds too good to be true. Is he handsome?"

"I've never seen eyes so blue," Britta grinned, "saved me from Rielle as well." Amelie wrinkled her nose at the mention of the Rielle duke but before she could say anything was interrupted by a knock at the door. The two sisters exchanged glances and Amelie retreated into the darkness of their home. Britta turned to the door, her hand tense and ready to spawn something to defend them. She opened the door a crack, peering out. No one there. Odd. She looked down to see a note on their doorstep. 

She cast upon it but there was no rune that would go off when she picked it up, nor any other enchantment on it, so she knelt and retrieved it from their doorstep. There were a few lines on it and it looked as if they'd been written in haste.

_Write to me, use this and they'll find me wherever the King has gone, I'm the only one with my name_

_Rohan Dalorien  
_

_King Emeric's Employ_

"What is it?" Amelie hissed as Britta shut the door, casting fire on the candles so their room lit up.

"Rohan wants me to write to him," Britta smiled, "I might have gotten more than just a dance it seems, I suppose I should thank him." Amelie smiled at her sister, coming to her and embracing her. Britta engulfed her sister in a returned embrace, holding her tightly. What if she had to leave? She didn't think she could leave her sister alone with just their Grandmother - she may have been an Altmer but she was growing old - all had to die eventually. Yet, to earn her keep, go out into the world like everyone else.

"Don't worry about us, sister," Amelie smiled as she pulled away, "just come visit every now and then." 


	2. The Passage of Time

"You are no longer welcome here!"

The words boomed and stung in Britta's head, or was it the wine she'd drank. She sat, slumped in the chair at her sister's table, two empty bottles in front of her. _Damn that man! Thinking he doesn't need me!_ Anger boiled in her again and both bottles shattered by the force of her feelings. It felt good to smash them, a wave of the hand disintegrated the glass entirely. The shatters had brought her sister running, only to see Britta in the same position, still looking miserable.

"I serve that man for 11 years, eleven whole years, and this is the thanks I get," she grumbled, "a false accusation and no more money to help you or Grandma, or Calista," Britta looked up at her sister. Her misshapen sister, who's face wasn't quite right, whose eyes didn't see properly and whose mouth struggled with words. Her poor sister and damned those who called her as such. A smaller shape moved past her sister and came down the stairs, dressed all in the blue night clothes that she'd stitched together herself.

"Mama, why are you still awake, the sun's gone down," Calista asked, holding onto her mother's arm, "Papa will be home in a few days." Britta smiled, putting an arm around Calista and kissing her forehead. She couldn't help but smile at her daughter and wanted nothing more than to tell her that everything was going to be alright. It wasn't alright. Perhaps her father was coming home in a few days but they wouldn't know for sure until he turned up on their doorstep or the King's courier came to tell them he was dead or captured. 

"Go back to bed, sweet, I'll be up in a moment," Britta sighed, "you best be asleep when I come up there." Calista nodded and hugged her mother, turning back and running upstairs, a snap from her aunt warning her not to wake her Albae. Calista went quiet and tiptoed into her room, getting into bed without a sound. Amelie came down to join her sister, looking at her as if she were more a scourge than a sister. 

"You are unbelievable, don't look at me like that, find another lord or go adventure like you've always wanted to," Amelie hissed in the darkness, "or move to Wayrest, you'll see more of Rohan than you do now." Britta huffed and looked the other way. She was right of course and Britta would have given her world to see more of Rohan but her family here were more than her world.

"He lives in barracks, sister," Britta shook her head, it felt heavy from the wine, "and Wayrest would take all money out of my pocket, probably more." Amelie let out a sigh and sat across from her sister, shaking her head. Britta had turned up unannounced that afternoon, hours earlier than she was meant to, and as soon as the door had closed, she descended into tears. Her lord had heard rumours and thrown her out from his so-called court, ha, a court. He could barely muster five people from the slums of Daggerfall. 

Amelie knew that her sister would rather be in Wayrest, closer to her husband, even if he came home enough for Daggerfall to be considered home. She'd heard them argue about it before but Britta had almost broken him the last time, with Aldmeri troops attacking them, wouldn't it be better to be in the confines of a city less far-flung from aid. He had counter-argued with what the Dominion would do to their capital city if they got hold of it and how he would never forgive himself if the two of them were there.

"I know you think I shouldn't have married him," Britta sighed, keeping her voice low.

"No, no, Britta," Amelie shook her head, "Rohan is a good man, he loves you and he loves Calista. You can't refuse your King, we all know that, he didn't try to become his General but Emeric decreed that was what would happen. One day, this will all be over and the two of you can live how you are meant to."

"I don't know where I'll find a new lord, the rumours going around, that bastard was saving face," Britta's lip curled as she muttered something under her breath, "gods help me if they reach Rohan."

"He won't believe them," Amelie shook her head, "he's better than that, and so are you."

Britta went to say something back but tumbled off her chair, clutching her chest. She writhed, all air stolen from her as the pain ate through her as if she had been pierced by a sword. Breath returned to her, only for her to bring up the contents of her stomach, she lay there for a moment, clutching at her chest. She simply breathed, again and again, the tightness leaving her chest. Amelie waving a hand to clear up, looking down on her sister with concern. 

Britta slowly pushed herself up from the ground, holding herself up on her hands, looking around the room. She was still in her home? She could have sworn she was elsewhere, at least for a moment. It had not smelt of home but of death, decay and rotting corpses and her chest; her chest still burned with the pain that had been brought down on it. Air. She needed air. She struggled up off the floor and onto her feet, holding onto her sister for a moment until she regained her balance.

"I...I'm going for a walk," she declared, making hey way to the door, each step stronger than the last, "I'll be back soon, just around the market district, it's safe there, plenty of guards." Britta placed a hand on the handle and pushed, letting herself out into the cold night air. She could feel Amelie's eyes on her, watching her. Perhaps she was going to tell her to come back inside but no sound reached Britta. 

Britta set off around Daggerfall, breathing in the smell of home rather than that of her floor and vomit and whatever else had crept into her subconscious. Daggerfall was nice at night if you went to the right places. There had been talks of murderers on the streets but if you kept to the guard's paths you were safe and there will few opportunities for criminals to strike. Thieves were more of a problem - and certainly a problem for the Bosmer and Khajiit who lived among them, they were ruthlessly accused should anything be stolen and more than once Britta had seen them accused by the thieves themselves. 

Perhaps she should have hated the city really, a little part of her did. She had made her name in the streets and her surname was on the lips of anyone who knew anything of the fighting. They talked, they all talked. Her sister, twisted by heritage, her grandmother they'd called a spy too many times although the Altmer grew older and frailer by the day. The poor slept on the streets in alarming numbers and each beggar she passed was given some of the great General Dalorien's coin - that was where any of her money would have to come from now with no lord for the Mage Dalorienne to work for.

"Excuse me," a voice asked. Britta stopped walking and turned to look at the owner. It was a young woman, she looked like any other Breton, blond-haired, but hooded. Odd, another mage perhaps?

"My benefactor wishes to speak with you about a matter that could change the fate of the world," the hooded figure. Bold words, then, everyone wanted to change the world at the moment. A war-ravaged world was far less desirable than one that wasn't. Unless of course, there were Daedra afoot. There had been mutterings of an excessive amount of skamps appearing in more and more civilized places, almost as if they were being let in. Even Britta had been called on by the mages guild to help fend off a group that had appeared just outside the city. 

"If this is work, I'll take it," Britta sighed. _What are you saying? This person has approached you late at night. Britta, you've gone mad._ She continued, "what does your _benefactor_ want?"

"Why send a messenger if they wanted to speak openly about what they want?" The hooded figure countered, "the matter is for your ears only." 

"Fine then," Britta grumbled, perhaps people could be more work than her old lord, she almost wanted him back. 

"He awaits nearby, don't tarry," the hooded figure warned her, "you'll know where to go." Britta regarded the woman for a moment, studying her face. It was oddly...pristine as if it weren't quite real. She was young, which helped, but few had faces that weren't lined even a little. There was something about her hair as well, almost too light to be human. Britta frowned at her for a moment, she was given a smile in return. Was she another Highmore, perhaps? A Breton-Altmer come to find their kin in Daggerfall. 

The hooded figure was right, though by what means she knew Britta could not deduce, but she knew where to go and didn't have to think of where she was going. The streets of Daggerfall were quiet as always, it felt as if the conversation with the woman had filled the streets. They had returned to silence now and Britta looked behind her to see the woman had disappeared entirely. Strange. Still, if she was a Highmore it wouldn't be beyond her magical ability to do so. 

Britta found her feet carrying her to Pathierry's house, strange, what could Roulena want with Highmores? She was fully Breton as far as Britta could tell and no Highmore would degrade themselves to cleaning the streets unless...unless they weren't a high more. Where was Roulena? Britta could not stop her feet now, making her way up to the steps and towards the house. She knocked. Nothing. She tried the door and it opened without any force. 

Britta crept into a room that was lit only by a few candles, not enough on a night like this to be good for anything. A muffled noise came from across the room and she cast a mage light to reveal a man, tied and gagged across the room. Britta rushed to him, going to untie him but a noise of protest came from him. Too late. Something hit Britta on the back of the head and she fell to the ground. 

It didn't quite knock her out but her head spun and she felt herself being dragged and then carried down into a basement, through into a cave. There was a cave out of Daggerfall? Strange. She still couldn't move and when they dropped her on the cold stone, she felt her hair being tugged at, cut off. She tried to stop them but her hands were held down with ease and she could do nothing as they cut off all the black hair that sat on her head. Part of her pride and joy and it was gone, she'd done nothing to fight them. 

Further and further down she seemed to go, joined by others who had also been shaved and stripped bare, put into new clothes that would better suit wherever they were going. Britta followed those in front of her, realising she was chained to them and almost tumbling down the stairs into those in front of her. Where were they taking her? Her head still spun and she could do nothing but blindly follow, although she fought and fought, her feet still guided her. 

It was all clockwork, it was all too easy. Coming into the room, watching one after another lie upon the table and have their heart struck by a dagger. Britta could gather enough to look at the man who would kill them all. Not man, mer. An Altmer clothed all in black and an adornment on his forehead that gave him an aura of something otherworldly. He did not belong on this earth as Britta wouldn't belong on Aldmeri shores. 

It was her turn.

She moved without question before her mind became her own again, she kicked and screamed, being wrestled down onto the table. The Altmer almost looked impressed at the spirit she had and that it took four of his minions to hold her down. Still, she struggled against them, even managing to throw one-off but it was no use for the moment she was free, the Altmer plunged his dagger into her chest, not far above where she had felt the same pain before. 

Britta cried out as her very essence was torn from her body, who she was filling the gem that the Altmer held in his other hand. With little thought her body was shoved off the table, falling onto the countless others who were being dragged away into a pit not far off.

_You better come home Rohan,_ she thought to herself as the last of her disappeared, _Calista needs you now._


	3. All Sails Ahead

Sea air did something to the soul that Dynili couldn't put her finger on but loved all the same. Sea air did something to the stomach that Entdil could absolutely put his finger on and had him leaning over the side of the boat, vomiting. Aerene was indifferent to both, she'd spent her childhood on boats, sailing in and out of Woodhearth, bringing in supplies with her father from the other nations who supplied them with food that would not damn them all. 

"Is he going to survive this journey?" Aerene asked Dynili, leaning on the side of the ship a good distance away from Entdil, "I doubt he'll survive as one of the Dominion's marines."

"There are other jobs he can do," Dynili sighed, smiling down at Entdil who was now trying to pull himself together, "he's got more of a mind for books and numbers than for swords and spells." Aerene shook her head, her friend had such a way of talking that befitted all the noble ladies of Eldenroot. Dynili had grown up in the confines of the home of the Camorans, her mother was one of the King's sisters and no one had thought better than a Balatar, steeped in tradition and old Ayleid blood as the stories went, to represent the Wood Elves in the Altmer Queen's army. 

"We should make landfall in a day or two, it'll be good to be there, even I'm getting sick of the sea," Aerene sighed, "if we hadn't been blown off course like that we would have reached Auridon days ago, at least we still have enough food. Seaman's food good enough for your delicate palette, my lady?" Dynili laughed and nodded, moving away from the side of the boat and leaving Aerene there. 

Lady Dynili Balatar was a small woman, her eyes blacker than night hiding most of what she thought, her skin that of her tree home would be a spectacle among the golden-skinned Altmer who walked the shores of Auridon. More than once Dynili had led the King's hunts, even at her tender age, and she loved her Uncle who had been more a father to her than her own. Now she was his ambassador, or almost at least, she'd represent him in the army and be where she most liked to be. For all her gracious nature, Dynili belonged at the head of an army or hunt. 

Lord Entdil was another matter entirely, deemed an appropriate match for a Balatar. From a family who had not married with the royals for some time, he ran his father's stronghold until an older brother had appeared and taken it from him. He had not resisted, been glad to be free of obligation and his brother had spared him for his efforts. Entdil belonged to numbers while his wife-to-be belonged to the trees and people who regarded her as a Princess in all but name. 

"We'll be off this wretched boat soon, my love," Dynili sighed, leading Entdil away from the side, mopping his brow and mouth of sweat, "Aerene says we'll make landfall soon, a day or two."

"I'm not sure I'll survive that long but gods don't bury me at sea," Entdil said this with a grin, "I don't want stitches through my nose." Dynili laughed and kissed the tip of his nose, resting her forehead against his for a moment. It should be said that their engagement came as no great shock, many other nobles had been treated to the two running between their legs for most of their formative years. Yet, it always seemed to surprise them most of all and both relished standing in silence, the gentle rocking of the boat and sound of the hull moving through the waves as company. 

"When we get to Auridon, we should go and see my father's friend," Entdil smiled, "don't look at me like that you know he always liked to learn about others. Anyway, he's a Bosmer, I believe he's entourage to Prince Naemon and his wife, Estre, you'll like him."

"If you say so," Dynili smiled, "I shall look forward to meeting him."

"Must you be so distrustful of the Altmer, my dear?" Entdil sighed, "I know those you have met have not been kind but the Queen herself will want to see you and she's known for her kindness, she's a good woman. Many want to uphold the Dominion and your Uncle wouldn't agree to this if he wasn't sure." Dynili nodded but said nothing, conjuring another sigh from Entdil who kissed her forehead, swaying her with the gentle rock of the boat. 

"We will have to wait longer to marry," Dynili sighed, resting her head against his, closing her eyes.

"I know, my love, I know," Entdil smiled, "it will make it all the more sweet when we finally can, hopefully, this blasted war will be over and we can live in peace." 

Something rocked the boat, a little harder than normal and they wobbled on the deck. Dynili looked to Aerene but she seemed not to care for the movement, so she turned back to Entdil. The boat rocked again. This time, knocking both Bosmer of their feet. Dynili looked up at Aerene who was now gripping the side of the boat, fighting to keep her own feet. Again, this time Dynili having to cling to the side so she was not thrown the other way.

"PIRATES!" Screamed the lookout and chaos ensued. Aerene ran at the boat's wheel, twisting it and turning the other way, commanding that everyone hold onto something and ready themselves for attack. Dynili and Entdil retreated to below deck, staying out of the way of those who would defend them, tucked into their cabin. Out of sight, out of mind.

Above them, they could hear Aerene shouting commands, it was her father's ship after all and she would fight to protect it, this was no different just because it wasn't carrying cargo. People readying cannons, firing, the ship rocking this way and that, throwing the two of them from side to side as the battle raged above. 

"We need to help," Dynili declared, "they've made it onto the ship."

"Dynili-" Entdil started but she swung around, looking at him with such ferocity that he shrank away from her.

"I'm going to help, Entdil," Dynili snapped, "I won't stay here when I know I can help." Entdil grabbed her arm and although she tried to pull away he managed to pull her close enough to kiss her. She held on just as tightly, her fingers gripping his shoulder, more to steady herself than a need to hold onto him. He then pushed her off, with a command that she come back. 

Dynili ran up onto the deck, bow and arrows ready, along with the magic that obeyed her whim. Aerene was on deck, fighting off the pirates who had come aboard with her father's sword. The mer who had come to raid their ship were odd, to say the least. Their skin was almost blue and their eyes didn't look as if they could see anything at all. In some places, they even had scales and their armour much the same. They wielded ice and spears, freezing and destroying those around them. 

Dynili used her fire on those she could and those burnt she put out of their misery quickly - hunts were for animals, for food, not for people. She found herself back to back with Aerene, keeping them warm with fires so the seafaring mer could not freeze them in place. The boat still rocked with fervor but they fought to keep their feet and it threw off their foes from time to time as well, giving them openings. 

The boat was almost capsized by something else, something had been hitting it but there were no ships in sight that were close enough. Aerene fought with all her might and screamed for Y'ffre to guide them, to bring the boat back to her father. Whatever was trying to capsize them tried again, throwing some of the seafaring elves off their boat and into the water. It seemed to be little concern for them as the wind began to howl, throwing barrels that stored their food over the side and at the few who remained to fight. 

The boat was struck a third time and it was thrown across the water, the wind carrying its sails, landing on its side. Dynili grabbed with she could, feeling her shoulder slip out of place and leaving her hanging on with one hand.

"Aerene!" She screamed. Nothing. She screamed her friends' name again but there was nothing. She let herself fall, slipping down the boat, only just able to grab a broken plank with her one good hand. She shouted for Entdil but nothing came. She shouted again. This time a voice meek, calling out to her, calling her name. She called for him again, getting a moan of pain in return. She pulled down on the plank, breaking it in two, then the next and then the next until she could slip through the hole. She managed to grab hold of one of the beams and slipped down onto the side of the ship. 

Water came up to her ankles and continued to fill the ship. She ignored it, for now, calling out to Entdil, eventually finding him, lying on his side, looking up at her. He was covered in his own blood and some of the seafaring elf who lay dead beside him. Dynili crouched beside him, not daring to touch him. She could do anything. Healing magic had never been her forte and she could do nothing to help him. 

"Don't cry, Dynili," his hoarse voice came with a smile, "brave death, for me, don't you think?"

"We were supposed to grow old together," Dynili's words interrupted by intakes of breath as she fought to fulfil his wish that she not cry.

"I know, my love, but winds change, we change," Entdil groaned in pain, a small shift revealing the tip of the spear still buried in his side, "you must do what you can to survive." 

"What use is surviving without you?" Dynili let the tears falling, grabbing his hand as Entdil closed his eyes. He grimaced, turning his grimace into a smile. Still smiling, with a spearhead in his side. He should have been surrounded by books and everything he loved, lived hundreds of years in fine clothes. This was not meant to be.

"Survive for me, Dynili," Entdil asked, his voice barely more than breath, "survive for me." 

His chest no longer rose and fell and Dynili, for a moment, forgot the water that almost engulfed her, instead just watched Entdil. He did not move, he did not open his eyes and no air went in and out of his lungs. The boat did not move, water still poured in from somewhere and Dynili was left with nothing but her thoughts. 

Slowly, she pried the ring he carried from his finger, leaning over and kissing his forehead. Don't bury me at sea, he had asked. She whispered her apologies and moved away from his body. There was no way back up to the hole she'd come through, the better option was to find where the water was coming in. She waded through what was now almost waist-deep, trying to find its source. Things moved underfoot and she did her best to ignore them, not daring to look down for fear of what they might be. 

The boat rocked again. 

With a roar something smashed into it, shattering the boat's underside and throwing Dynili up into the air. She writhed as her side fell on splintered wood, splinters breaking off into her body the more she moved. Another roar came and another smash into the ship, throwing Dynili and the plank now lodged in her side into the sea. She lay there in its waters, waiting for the roar to come for her.

Waves tossed her this way and that, however warm Altmer waters were supposed to be, the ocean gripped her with cold, turning her this way and that. One moment she would be thrown from one wave to the next, the other forced down underneath, dragged back up by the waves. Still, her side bled and more parts splintered into her, the plank beginning to break free. 

It was all, so cold. _It's so cold, Entdil._

The plank broke off completely and Dynili watched it float away from a moment before another wave came and engulfed her. With what little energy she had left she tried to warm herself with the magic at her fingertips but it did little to help. She could feel her blood draining from her, into the sea. The water burnt her side and her body convulsed as it fought for her life. Why did it care, Dynili was already dead, wasn't she?

Her uncle would have to send another ambassador, at least the dominion might find her body, send her back to Valenwood to rest for eternity. Maybe they'd find Aerene and Entdil too, bury them all side by side. _That would be nice, wouldn't it, my love?_ Dynili was given no answer and thrown under the waves again, side still burning as the salt water carved at her open wounds. Yes, it would be nice, to be buried side by side with them.


	4. To Oblivion

The room Britta woke up in was cold as ice and at first, her body refused to move. She willed her hand to move but nothing came of it, not even fingers twitching. At least she could open her eyes and her nose still worked, though she wasn't sure she wanted it to. The room smelt of death and when her body finally moved, her head rolled to the side and revealed a long-dead skeleton, lying on a bedroll beside a fire that burnt but produced no warmth. 

Where was she? Was she alive? Was this Nirn? Had they gotten it all wrong and it wasn't Arkay who welcomed them when they died? She wouldn't be surprised, there were so many versions of everything none of it made sense. She found the energy to stand and made her way to the gate that kept her in the room. The fire still produced no warmth, even as she walked past it. For a second, she looked down at herself to discover that she was still wearing the clothes she had...had died in. Yes, she must have been dead. She'd watched that man plunge a dagger into her chest, how could she not be dead?

"Whoa there," a voice called, Britta's head snapping up, "are you alright? Let me get you out." The woman on the other side of the gate was almost a giant, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, a scar running over the left, smiling at her. Brandishing an axe, she brought it down on the lock on the gate, allowing Britta her freedom. She followed the woman without question, perhaps this was a way out. Maybe Arkay would find her and this was just a test, didn't some Redguards have that? They were tested and then their god would lead them to the afterlife? 

In one of the rooms was a Dremora, much stronger than any of the skamps Britta had dealt with when called to by the Mages Guild. When she tried to cast lightning upon it, something else came out. Dark purple crystals shot from her hand, piercing the Dremora's arm. Lyris struck it before it could do anything to her but Britta found herself staring at her hands. Dark magic? That wasn't good. Lyris hurried her on but the feeling in her hands haunted her, what was this?

There seemed to be endless dremora and feral soul shriven to kill, more coming when they had killed the forge master. Only after he was dead did it seem like they could stop. Britta fell against the wall, running a hand over her head to discover she was still bald. She quickly pulled her hand away from her head and looked up at Lyris. 

"What's going on?"

"We're in Coldharbour, the realm of Molag Bal," Lyris answered, being cautious as they stayed put, "we need to find the Prophet but Molag Bal had eyes everywhere and our escape won't have gone unnoticed."

"Coldharbour?" Britta asked, "Lyris, am I dead?"

"I was going to let you down gently but yes, you're dead," Lyris sighed, "you were a sacrifice to Molag Bal, so you ended up here, with no soul. It's why your magic is corrupted, I'm assuming by your face it's not usually like that." Britta shook her head. She had no soul? She wasn't alive. The divines had abandoned her like they had abandoned every other wretch in this place. 

"What about you?"

"I'm not dead, no," Lyris answered, "been here long enough for it to feel like it. Come on, we best get going, there's more ahead and we need to get to the Prophet."

Britta followed Lyris out into the open air of Coldharbour, an area painted only in the colours of the night, complete with fluorescent rivers running through it. She followed Lyris amidst the chaos, other soul shriven who had escaped their confines were fighting those who had gone feral aeons ago. Britta followed Lyris up a path to where an eye looked at them, yet seemed to be looking everywhere at once. One of the scions. They destroyed it, other Soul shriven joining them. The other too...this was all too easy. 

"Now we have to find the Prophet's cell, I imagine Cadwell knows," Lyris muttered, running down the hill, Britta barely catching what she said. She followed the Nord to a small camp, one of the fires that gave off no heat burning. It was so cold. Surrounding the fire were a few docile Soul Shriven and a man. Almost skeletal he wore a pot on his head and a grin as he paid the lute, singing nonsense. 

"Hello! Hello!" He called, "ah and far Lyris, how are you dear?"

"Well, Cadwell, as one can be, we need your help," Lyris explained, "do you know how to get to the prophet's cell?"

"I do!" Cadwell was far to keen to answer for Britta's liking but she said nothing, "it's a more scenic route, full of horrible beasties and some head bashing no doubt. Follow the river and you'll find the entrance to the Undercroft. Once you're in, stick to the light a ladder should take you right to the prophet! Do give him my best, and check-in from time to time, best of luck!"

Britta followed Lyris down to the river, remarking that seen as Cadwell thought the Undercroft was lovely it would be a death trap. Excellent. As if she hadn't died enough already. Britta shook the thought from her mind and instead concentrated her Magicka into her hands. It was better to do it now and be prepared for whatever was coming for them. They traipsed through the river until they came to a door, clearly locked.

"Rats," Lyris hissed, "I don't really want to bash it open, get anyone's attention." Britta didn't say anything, instead searching the body of a dead soul shriven in front of her. She tried her best not to breath as she lifted the body, finding what she was looking for. In silence she worked at the lock, listening to it, pushing each pin down until it clicked. The door unlocked and she stood up, only to turn and see Lyris with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a helpful skill when Lord demands you check on his daughter who locks her room, never liked doing it," Britta sighed. Lyris shook it off and they made their way into the Undercroft. Urns lined the wall and more than once they were forced to jump away from the danger of fire breathing traps. What a pleasant place indeed. It smelt of death and nothing else down there. 

The dead walked too, rounding one corner a skeleton pulled itself from the ground, armed with a sword. It was then that Britta saw that the ground was in fact piles upon piles of bones. While the skeleton presented little problem, she found herself walking over the ground more carefully, for fear of disturbing more dead. There wasn't anything right about this. 

Pushing threw another door they came into an open room, ceiling nowhere in sight and in the centre a glowing orb. Within the orb was a man, dressed in ragged clothes and crying out in pain. Britta watched him, curious as to who he was. This was the prophet Lyris had been searching for? She hadn't known what to expect, though an old man barely alive did seem to be quite fitting. Old men tended to give out prophecies in the stories she read to Calista. 

_Oh, Calista, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

"There's a trick to opening the cell," Lyris concluded, Britta was too lost in her thoughts to really hear the Nord, "the only way for one to leave is to be replaced with another. I need to switch places with the Prophet." Britta looked up at the man, how long had he been there? 

"Is there no other way?"

"Believe me, I wish there was," Lyris sighed, "but there's no one else here with a beating heart. If it helps stop Molag Bal, I'll do it." Lyris told her what to do, that she'd have to fight anything that tried to stop them alone. She could do it. The neigh on twenty years she had spent being taught how to use magic had at least come to the afterlife with her if nothing else. 

As she fought the Dremora that came for them, Britta found herself thinking of home. How many days had passed? Was it days at all? Months, years perhaps. Was she going to return to the world, if she were to return at all, and find that her daughter had grown up without her, maybe it had been hundreds of years and Calista's mother had never come to bed and slept beside her. Had Rohan ever come home? Had her Grandmother lived out the last of her day's without Britta there? 

The Dremora dead, Britta deactivated what had taken in their essence. Both pressed down and sealed, whatever force had been contained in them flung Lyris across the room, passing through the Prophet as he was left on the floor in front of Britta. She reached out to the old man, who used her and his staff to stand. He cried out for freedom but said little more than guide her to where they needed to go. 

Vestige. He kept calling her Vestige.

"It is the title I have given you, who you once were is lost, you are soulless, who you were is out there somewhere," he explained, as if he could read her mind, "as I am the prophet, my true name has been lost to me through years of torment." 

"What year is it, on Nirn, or can you not tell?" Britta asked.

"I cannot tell you I am afraid," the Prophet answered. Britta sighed but stopped short, the ground rumbling, making her stumble and have to grab onto the wall to keep herself on her feet. Molag Bal's voice rumbled through the air but she could barely comprehend what was being said, more concerned with whatever was rising from the ground. More Daedra, or something else? 

From the ground came a frightening monster, made all of bones and roaring. It towered over Britta, its cry a low rumble, its arms raised as if, like the Prophet, it was tasting freedom for the first time. It wasted no time in going for Britta and she responded by hitting it with the dark magic that had manifested instead of her lightening, Any time it looked to the Prophet she would have to distract it, the old man would be no match for what this was, especially not in the state he was in. 

Too slow. The Child of Bones struck Britta with such a force that she found herself pressed into the ground and all the weight bearing down on her. She felt her shoulder shatter and her arm break as its skull got closer and closer to her face. She cried out and kicked, trying desperately to get her undamaged arm free, pushing her hand against the thing's chest. What should have been a lightning bolt became a purple crystal, the biggest she'd called on and it pierced the thing's chest. She didn't know if it was going to work but the roar suggested it had a little.

The Prophet saved her, using his magic to give Britta time to use her one good arm to scrabble away before it collapsed. He said something about her being lucky that her body was no longer real and to go the light spilling shard while he called on the gods to return them to Tamriel. Home. She was going home. 

The power of the shard filled her body, lifting her from the ground, its light pulsing through her veins. Every broken bone reforged, pushed back into place. He body felt real again, hair sprouted on her head and when the shard let her go Britta fell to one knee. She felt like she could breathe again. Her heartbeat and her lungs breathed in the putrid air of Coldharbour but Britta didn't care it was putrid, just that she could breathe again and that she was going home.


End file.
